David Robbins - Green Bay Run

Moments later a bee buzzed past him. He inhaled, savoring the tranquil scene, knowing all too well the respite from the seething violence so prevalent in the postwar era would be fleeting.

It was.

A raspy snarl rent the humid air to his left.

Blade whirled, bringing up the Commando, and spied a slavering mutation standing at the edge of the forest, a two-headed lynx further deformed by a grotesque hump bulging above its front legs. Although nowhere near as big as a mountain lion, a typical lynx was deadly in its own right. And this one wasn’t typical. Almost four feet in height and weighing close to 60 pounds, the mutation combined the feral attributes of a wild feline with the deranged thirst for blood of a genetic deviate.

And how Blade despised the deviates!

Ever since his father had been slain by one of the mutated variety, he had hated all mutants with a vengeance. Because of the massive amounts of radiation and chemical-warfare toxins unleashed on the environment during the war, the entire ecological chain had been disrupted, genetically poisoned for generations to come, and the Outlands were infested with the creatures. Everywhere he went, he encountered them. Every-where he went, he vented his hatred. And like now, he met them head-on, a grim smile plastered on his countenance.

Growling from one mouth and hissing from the other, the lynx crouched and padded forward. A tawny coat of hair covered its body, except for the black tufts at the tip of its pointed ears and the patch of black at the end of its short tail. Its cheek ruffs formed a double beard under its throat.

Blade knew that an ordinary lynx would avoid humans at all costs. Only the mentally unbalanced creatures, the hideous mutations, characteristically violated the laws of Nature and went after anything and everything they met. He pointed the Commando at the beast’s head and was about to fire when the noise of approaching vehicles distracted him.

The vehicles were coming from the east!

From Green Bay!

And suddenly he perceived the tactic the Technics had employed. The soldiers in the jeeps to the west had radioed their base and requested more troops, who were now speeding toward him. The Technics to the west must still be there, waiting patiently to have the SEAL flushed toward them.

Another snarl reminded him of a more immediate danger, and he saw the lynx bounding at him, its lips curled back over its tapered teeth. He cut loose, the rounds boring into the feline’s cranium and bringing it crashing down in a disjointed heap. Pivoting, he beheld five jeeps racing toward him, each containing four Technic troopers.

They spotted him at the same instant, and an officer in the lead vehicle began yelling and gesturing.

Blade faced them, fully intending to do battle, but two events transpired almost simultaneously that ruined his plans and put his life in grave jeopardy. First he heard more vehicles approaching, only these were bearing down on him from the west, not the east, and he realized he’d been wrong, realized the soldiers in the three jeeps to the west weren’t waiting for the SEAL to be flushed toward them. They’d wisely waited for their reinforcements to reach the area, no doubt keeping in radio contact the entire time, and both forces were executing a classic pincer movement designed to catch the SEAL between them. He glanced to the west and spied the three speeding jeeps.

Even though he was outnumbered, and even though he was caught in the open and wasn’t about to plunge into the forest and risk leading the Technics to Samson and the SEAL, Blade raised the Commando and prepared to fire, but a second unexpected development prevented him from squeezing the trigger.

The Warrior heard a bestial growl behind him, and then stumbled forward as a heavy form struck him between the shoulder blades and razor claws sank into his shoulders. In a flash of insight he knew what had attacked him, and he dropped the Commando and reached over his shoulder to grab the animal clinging to his back. Teeth tore into his left wrist, sending excruciating pain along his arm, and held fast.

All the while the thing hissed and snarled.

Blade could feel claws ripping at his leather vest and raking his skin. He whipped his body from side to side, striving to dislodge the brute, to no avail. Next he attempted to flip the beast over his head, but the claws imbedded in his shoulders only dug in deeper. In desperation, knowing the Technics would be on him in seconds, he threw himself backwards onto the asphalt. The animal bore the brunt of the fall. The impact hardly fazed it. With a guttural rumble in its chest, it retracted its claws and scrambled to get free.

Blade rolled to the right and rose into a crouch, drawing both Bowies as he did, feeling his blood trickling down his spine.

Not five feet away, already upright and about to attack, was another vile mutation, the mate of the lynx the Warrior had slain. Like its mate, this one had been born deformed. Instead of two heads, this one had twin humps on its back and an extra leg on each side, undersized limbs that dangled inches above the ground and served no useful purpose.

Blade looked into the feline’s blazing orbs and tensed to meet the charge which came a moment later. He slashed both Bowies up and in as the big cat leaped at his head, spearing both blades into the lynx. The creature’s momentum bowled Blade over, and he gripped the Bowies and extended his arms, holding the enraged mutation at bay, at arm’s length.

The strategy worked for a few seconds, until the beast turned its attention to his arms and tore at them with its front claws. He jerked to the right, flinging the lynx from him, letting the Bowies slide out. Both knives were coated with blood, even the hilts, making his hands slippery.

The lynx promptly leaped erect.

Blade pushed to his knees, his eyes always on the cat, and he was ready when the mutation darted at him again. He flicked the right Bowie, going for the beast’s eyes, but the nimble cat evaded the knife and circled to the left. Blade turned with it, the Bowies held in front of him. In the back of his mind he worried about the Technics, but he couldn’t afford to glance aside or the cat would be on him in a flash.

The lynx silently padded around the giant, seeking an opening.

Blade slowly straightened, wanting to exploit his size advantage, to put more space between his throat and the beast.

Without any warning whatsoever, the mutation sprang, leaping and twisting in midair, going for the Warrior’s face.

Blade ducked and buried the Bowies in the mutation’s abdomen. His muscles bulged as he sliced the knives higher, cutting into the cat’s heaving chest. A torrent of blood spattered his arms and clothes. He swung his arms to the left, hurling the creature to the ground.

The lynx stood slowly. Its internal organs were seeping from the slit.

Hissing, the cat glared at the human and coiled for yet another spring.

Blade braced himself. He twisted when the mutation launched itself at him, then drove his right Bowie into the creature’s eye. The keen blade went in several inches, splitting the orb.

Unbalanced by the thrust, the lynx alighted unsteadily and nearly fell over. Mustering its flagging strength, the cat righted itself and crouched.

Blood and a piece of eyeball were on its left cheek.

Blade decided to end the fight quickly. He feinted with his right Bowie, and when the cat dodged to the left he suddenly lanced his left Bowie into the mutation’s left eye, piercing it.

Unable to see, the lynx shook its head vigorously and started to back away.

Raising his right arm, Blade was about to throw the Bowie, to bury the knife in its chest, to finish it off, when someone else took the honor from him.